Provenance of Chiaroscuro
by Warriorgirl Maoh
Summary: Kyouya has had enough.
1. Chapter 1

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He finally decided. Tamaki is insane. Or at the very least, part-way. There were some days when he barely made sense because he simply kept rambling about things that seemed to transcend randomness. Laughing and squealing to the point where tears would stream down his cheeks and he'd double over clutching his sides, in the middle of the walk. There were also days when he made even less sense because how in the nine circles of hell could someone usually so idiotic suddenly have his I.Q skyrocket past Einstein capability that even the teachers could barely keep up with the speed of his calculations nor the near absurd complexity of his formulas. He'd explain every line of Shakespeare, Wolfe and Voltaire at first reading while prattling along the geography of Europe as if it was the ABCs. He was incomprehensible, unpredictable… interesting.

Tamaki would walk down the halls of Ouran. Girls (and the occasional boy) would let out a sigh and a blush at his every movement. They don't realize that Tamaki is, in actuality, as cruel and manipulative as himself. Tamaki is cruel because of how eagerly he invites all the customers in, showering them with praises, locking them in with his intense violent gaze. He lulls you into his world, welcoming you with words that instill feelings of adoration, confidence… false hopes. The world is his stage and in his world he is the only lead actor. Both you and he know full well that neither you nor anyone else for that matter, can share in that proverbial spotlight of his. Tamaki is the epitome of the sun. Comforting, warm, inspiring… but get too close and you'll only get burnt.

Kyouya sighed and closed his eyes in frustration as Tamaki, for the third time that day, launches himself at the Ootori's back, yelling in that ludicrously happy voice of his, all his hare-brained ideas for the club and the occasional comment that 'mommy' would look good in either a dress, wig or some other article of female clothing. Every logical part in his body was screaming at him to push Tamaki off his back and walk out that cursed Third Music Room, forever leaving all the madness behind him. The mental picture of what his life would be like without the club tempts him so much that he does just that.

"Tamaki."

The tone is cold and flat, barely revealing a hint of emotion and yet the underlying ferocity seeped through and the whole club, stopped and stared at the Shadow King.

Tamaki looks at his friend, startled and he slowly removes his arms from Kyouya's shoulders, "Yes?"

Kyouya stands up, simultaneously clincking his laptop shut. He looks over his shoulder, letting his glasses slide to the lower bridge of his nose. Locking gazes with the blonde, he smirks sadistically as he recognizes the uncertainty and slight fear in Tamaki's face. Without another word, he picks up his laptop and walks out the door.

He simply had enough. Tamaki has to learn that he is not a necessity in Kyouya's life, nor in anyone's. He just a decoration, an add-on. He was a luxury in the Shadow King's life. A headache-inducing one for that matter, and kyouya has never been so glad as he was now to finally be free of that idiot.

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A/N: Whew! And that's first chapter! XD. I made this in the span of two subjects. Heh. Anyways, read and review please.


	2. Chapter 2

He decided. Kyouya is one emotionally constipated bastard. The most emotion that he has ever seen the dark haired boy express would be in the morning when he would deathglare everyone in sight for a full 30 minutes after waking up. The rest of the day would be composed of calculated smiles and articulate speeches that were all impeccably logically measured. Kyouya is also the most regimented person he knows. Each day is scheduled and maximized to the very last second. One would think that that would make him a very boring person but ever since he first saw the vice president, Kyouya was anything but. He is a curious contradiction of sorts; cold, manipulative and harsh to an unbelievable degree and yet… he manages to charm people instead of repelling them. He has an air of mystery that draws people to him, consciously or not. He is however, not the enigma that fangirls portray him to be. It's true that no one knows of his plans until it's too late but the reasons in which he does them for are rather blatant. He does what he does for profit, for his own gain. He has no mysterious purpose. A true enigma is indiscernible in all aspects. Kyouya does not have that particular romantic requirement. No, he is selfish, cold … real.

Wherever he is, whoever it is, Kyouya bluntly puts them in their place. Most people think that that makes him cruel. It's true only to a certain extent because the only person he's truly cruel to is himself. He doesn't allow himself to feel. He suppresses everything, never letting anyone get close. He pushes them away not because of arrogance but because he's afraid. Afraid that they won't understand, afraid to feel the pain that he knows would come if ever he truly did get close to someone and they just left him. Although, of course, Kyouya would be damned before he admit to such a thing. His forced indifference is a good way to shield himself but in doing so, he deprives himself of the possibility of something wonderful. Unlike the others, he could see the absolute intensity that Kyouya hides behind his glasses. His quiet yet fierce spirit is a welcome refresh from everything else that surrounds. Kyouya is the epitome of the darkness; scary, unsettling, holding all the shadows you don't want to face but ultimately, you cannot deny that you need it.

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No one knows a lot of things about Tamaki. Noone knows that his favorite bands are really Aqua and Metallica - which is just as well since that was admittedly a disturbing combination. Noone also knows that the real reason he set up the host club was because he was lonely. Longing for the company of the other host, of true friends who understood him and not really the supposed 'princesses'. Noone knows that every year, on his birthday, he curls up in the same corner of his bathroom floor and cries till he feels too exhausted to even be disgusted at his pathtic state. And noone knows that the days after Kyouya walked out, he was filled with a sense of despair that was completely conrary to the smiling assurances he gave the other hosts and clients. And that during the nights, he would lock himself in his room and wallow in his own personal hellhole, till he would finally fall asleep and wake up empty and restless despite the dreamless night.

Kyouya wouldn't return his calls, texts or e-mail. The bespectacled boy even went so faar as to temporarily move out of his mansion knowing full well that Tamaki would visit him there everyday after school.

Because the truth is, no matter how cliche it may sound, he NEEDED him. He had come to depend his life, his sanity on Kyouya. Everyday, what kept him from completely losing himself was the constant presence of the other boy's controlled albeit undeniably strong personality. He was the only one that effectively kept him anchored to the ground, reminding him of who he is, who he WAS.


	3. Chapter 3

Tamaki stopped in front of the huge oaken doors of the Ootori mansion, taking in every detail of the intricately carved wood before finally pressing the doorbell. The Ootori's long-faithful butler opened the door and Tamaki steeled himself for the response that he knew would come, as it had been for the past week.

"Greetings, Master Suoh."

Reflexively, Tamaki smiled charmingly. "Good afternoon, my good man. I'd like to talk to Kyouya."

The butler nearly sighed, " I'm sorry, Master Suoh, but the young master strictly ordered us to receive noone."

The blonde's voice was light but his gaze betrayed him. "Noone or just me?"

"Sire, I didn't mean-"

Tamaki ran his fingers through his hair roughly, "It's alright. You meant what Kyouya meant." He turned his eyes to the floor. ",

The butler bowed low, before gently closing the door. The moment he couldn't hear the other's footfalls, Tamaki crumbled to the ground and cried.

He was well aware of the dozen security cams surrounding the entrance of the Ootori mansion but he didn't, couldn't care for pretenses anymore. Does Kyouya really hate him that much? Tears ran down his cheeks and he stayed on the ground, sobbing.

He was faintly aware of someone coming toward him but he didn't bother looking up. What would it matter?"

"Damn."

Tamaki jumped in surprise. His head snapped up and lightning jolts ran along his spine. Is it... Really?

Kyouya Ootori was glowering at him, his voice as cold as when he left the Third Music Room. "What are you doing?"

"K-kyouya!"

"If you want to cry like a teenage girl after her first break-up then I suggest you don't do it on my front door."

Tamaki couldn't come up with an appropriate response, for the first time in his life, all his charm and wit deserted him. He just kept staring at the shadow king, wide-eyed.

Kyouya sighed frustratedly, before extending an arm to the blonde. "C'mon. Get up."

He didn't need to be told twice. Brushing the remaining tears away, he took the offered hand as if it was a lifeline. Kyouya repressed another sigh and pulled the blonde after him. The front door opened and he was greeted by the usual grandiose bow and welcome from the maids and manservants.

"Sir..." the butler began nervously upon spotting Tamaki.

"It's alright, Cecile. I expected this to happen some time soon anyway." Kyouya said, waving off the other.

The aged butler nodded as if he understood, bowing once more before taking a step back, watching the young master half-drag the Suoh heir up the grand staircase.

"Sit." Kyouya commanded the moment they entered his room. Like a well-trained puppy or a marionette on strings, Tamaki immediately sat on the edge of the Kyouya's perfectly made bed. His eyes following Kyouya's movements. The shadow king placed his bag and laptop on his desk in a nearly careless manner before grabbing the desk chair and sitting down, arms and legs crossed tightly. A frown on his face as he stared at the white walls.

"What..." Tamaki began slowly, "What did you mean when you said you 'expected this to happen'?"

Kyouya let out a short bark of a laugh, as if he was annoyed at feeling amused but didn't answer anything else. He continued staring ahead, his profile to Tamaki.

The blonde cleared his throat. "When are you coming back to the club?" To me, he wanted to add but he figured that if he did, Kyouya would knock his lights out. Or at least ask his security force to do so.

"What if I said 'never'?"

"What if I said I wouldn't let you?"

Kyouya massaged the bridge of his nose, swiveling the chair to properly face Tamaki. "Why do you want me back so badly, Tamaki? Is it because you're not used to not always getting what you want? Because you're not used to people NOT falling over their feet for you? Is THAT why?"

Tamaki peeked at him from under the fringe of blond that had fallen over his eyes. "That applies more to you than to me, mommy."

"STOP calling me by that absurd nickname!"

Tamaki lowered his eyes for a moment but didn't say anything else.

Kyouya leaned back on his chair, blowing at the air in repressed frustration. "Then what is it, Tamaki? What's your reason?"

"How many people are there in the world?"

The question was so out of left field that Kyouya blinked, wide-eyed, his anger momentarily fizzing out completely before returning with a cautious if not, suspicious gaze.

Tamaki cracked a smile at Kyouya's expression. "Humor me."

"Seven billion."

"Seven billion..." Tamaki repeated softly. "Do you think it's possible for a person to feel lonely even with that sort of knowledge? Because no matter how dark things get, you're surely safe in the knowledge that someone, somewhere is feeling the exact same way as you are, right? How could ANYONE possibly feel lonely after that?"

The lines that connected the dots evaded Kyouya's mind. WHAT is he BABBLING about now?

"How many students are there in Ouran, Kyouya?"

"Three thousand, seven hundred, seventy-two." Kyouya replied without missing a beat.

"Including me?"

Kyouya raised an eyebrow at him, not even deigning that particular question with a reply.

Tamaki nodded somberly. "Three thousand, seven hundred, seventy-one then." He moved closer to Kyouya. "Three thousand, seven hundred, seventy-one people who pay attention to me, who all know my name, know my face, know who I am. Nearly four thousand people out of seven billion. That's more than most people, isn't it, Kyouya? So why should I be lonely, Why should I be sad and angry and selfish?" Tamaki's voice lost it's edge but didn't falter. "I don't need three thousand people nor seven billion. The only one I want is you, Kyouya. I just need YOU."

The Ootori's throat was desert dry. "That's patently illogical, Tamaki."

Tamaki's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes desperate.

"I know..."

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End file.
